


everything is lost, all is gone

by kuragins



Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy, Voyná i mir | War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy
Genre: M/M, this is just anatole being a horny bitch after pierre chokes him out!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-24
Updated: 2017-11-24
Packaged: 2019-02-06 05:40:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12810828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuragins/pseuds/kuragins
Summary: his hand still rests on anatole’s bruised neck, and anatole draws in a sharp hiss of air as his fingers shift. fedya pauses, looks him carefully in the eye.“ah. i see,” he says. anatole flushes, casting his gaze to the ground.





	everything is lost, all is gone

anatole trembles.

because of what, he isn't sure. perhaps the sheer terror that had run through his veins as pierre had threatened him, eyes blazing with fury. perhaps it is the knowledge that he's made a mistake, a terrible mistake, one that's humiliated his family and ruined the life of the young girl he manipulated, one that's cost him the pleasures of life he's so partial to.

but, he's anatole kuragin. sophisticated thought doesn't suit him.

his mind tends to linger in the moment; and in this moment, he's flushed with the memory of pierre's hands curling around his throat, pressing bruises into his delicate skin. he walks with no destination, swaying slightly from the wine hélène had pressed upon him, his hair mussed. he doesn't make any move to fix it.

his body seems to move of its own accord, and he finds himself on the familiar path to fedya's. his usual swaggering walk is subdued. when he arrives, fedya's servant looks him up and down curiously, eyes catching on anatole's lips bitten nearly raw in agitation, but knows better than to say anything. anatole stumbles inside the familiar doorway, fedya not even looking looking from his writing (a letter to his mother, no doubt) as anatole's presence is announced.

"back so soon?" fedya's lips begin to curl up into a familiar smirk, but his eyebrows furrow in concern as he finally stills his pen and pulls his eyes away from his work. "tolya, are you alright? what the hell happened?"

anatole gestures vaguely to his neck, movements slightly frantic. "just-pierre...he-he..." anatole trails off, lifting his chin so fedya can see the bruises blooming dark underneath his pale skin.

"oh, god, i'll kill him," says fedya, hands curling into fists as he rises. "should've done it the first time." he approaches anatole, calloused hand coming up to brush softly against his marked skin with a tenderness that doesn't match the anger brewing behind his eyes. "are you hurt badly?" anatole looks down, away from fedya, shakes his head childishly.

"no...it just-he just-" anatole trails off. he realizes how close he's standing to dolokhov. he could name every color that blends together in his eyes, if he would choose to do so. instead, he chooses to close what space remains between them, grabbing desperately at the front of dolokhov's shirt in an attempt to communicate what he can't say aloud. fedya's lips aren't as soft as the ones he'd kissed just hours ago, soft satin against his fingers (god, only hours? it feels like so long ago, to anatole), but they're _familiar_. fedya pulls back, mild confusion playing on his face.

his hand still rests on anatole's bruised neck, and anatole draws in a sharp hiss of air as his fingers shift. fedya pauses, looks him carefully in the eye.

"ah. i see," he says. anatole flushes, casting his gaze to the ground.

fedya wastes no time, his hands firm on anatole's chest as he pushes him toward the sofa near the wall of the room. his lips find their way to anatole's neck, teeth grazing the tender skin and drawing a soft moan from the back of anatole's throat. fedya's fingers are rough, probing; roaming across anatole's neck, and shoulders, and chest, and hips in a way that makes anatole's back arch off the cushion.

fedya's knee presses between anatole's legs and anatole's breathless, breathless with the scratch of fedya's beard against his collarbone, breathless with the feeling of his hands, pressing anatole's hips down as they rise of their own accord.

anatole's never been good taking control. he's tried, he truly has, as countless women can testify, but he can never stand up to people taking charge; commanding him.

namely, fedya.

fedya, who's letting his hands run down anatole's chest, unbuttoning his shirt with a painful slowness. his fingers trace down his sides, trailing heat down his entire body.

"you're cold," fedya notes, his hands unrelenting. it doesn't seem to matter to anatole, warmth spreading through him as fedya lets his hips roll against anatole's. anatole whines, louder than he means to, grabbing at fedya's shoulders in an attempt to pull him closer, _closer_ , his lip catching between his teeth in an attempt to muffle the noises he can barely control. fedya pulls back. god, could he ever just give anatole what he _wants_?

the answer, of course, is an emphatic _no_ , as anatole understands with each practiced, careful movement of fedya's; each lingering touch that makes anatole twitch. fedya finally, _finally_ makes it to the top of anatole's trousers, his hands stilling for a moment only to tease anatole even more. he gives in, sliding them down his thighs and making quick work of his own, pressing himself between anatole's legs with an expression anatole knows all too well.

the way fedya fucks anatole is almost comforting, in a way. almost. because he knows it, knows the feeling of fedya pressing into him, knows the feeling of fedya's fingers digging into his hipbones, hard. but something's missing. anatole squirms slightly, gasping as fedya hits a new angle, inadvertently letting his head fall back to expose his neck, the bruises already starting to turn a darker color.

fedya reaches forward and wraps his hands around anatole's throat, just as pierre had. it's different now, though, without the fear ripping through his whole being. it's exhilarating. fedya presses down.

it's enough to make anatole's body tense up as he comes over his stomach, fedya's hands loosening as he follows suit close after. anatole lets his head fall to the arm of the sofa, breath coming in short gasps as he brings a hand to his neck, flinching slightly as he finds the newest bruises, fedya's handiwork. fedya rests his head on anatole's bare chest, his fingers trailing lazily up and down anatole's side, so different from their roughness just a few minutes earlier.

anatole lets out a soft huff of breath as he lets his hands find fedya's hair, stroking it gently. "you know i'll have to leave," he murmurs, wishing he didn't have to say it. saying it made it feel more real. "pierre'll absolutely kill me. marya dmitrievna, too, for that matter." fedya doesn't answer, simply lifts his head to press a soft kiss to anatole's lips.

maybe if they stay here long enough, it won't have to happen. fedya settles his head back onto anatole's chest. they fall asleep, both wondering if they're only stuck in a horrible dream, that they'll wake up and everything will be perfectly fine and back to normal, that anatole can go and watch more pretty young women enter into society, failed abduction completely forgotten, and fedya can always be the reluctant shoulder to fall back on.

next day anatole left for petersburg.

**Author's Note:**

> just a promlt fill for tumblr. im not proud of this but i needed to get writing out before i died on the spot
> 
> my [tumblr](https://andrierretashas.tumblr.com/)


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